


The winds of change blow hard in all directions

by everybodyknowsme



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Assassination Plot(s), Betrayal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-02-27 20:57:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13256472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everybodyknowsme/pseuds/everybodyknowsme
Summary: There is a new player in Gotham. In only a few weeks, he made sure that everybody, from respected stock-traders like Roland Daggett to despised psychopaths like Victor Zsasz, hatet him. And Peter Graeber in return hates everything they stand for.Batman would be a fool, to just stand by.





	1. Chapter 1

Batman was uncomfortable.  
He liked it, when crime was obvious. Though robberies might be chaotic, it was rather easy to tell, who was innocent and who was guilty.  
But the streets of Gotham had gone quiet. There were still dubious characters roaming the night.  
In the entrances of dark alleys drug-dealers sold various narcotics or hallucinogenics.  
There were still prostitutes offering themselves on the roadsides.  
Bouncers in front of doors in run down neighborhoods indicated illegal gambling.  
All that had changed was a man, that turned Gothams underworld from an equal-opportunity-machinery that had turned many into greedy monsters, into a single racist entity.

It was sudden. Bruce Wayne was at break-fast, when the headline of the newspaper read:  
“A warlord takes over?  
Without any known explanation, the South-African Warlord Peter Graeber landed yesterday afternoon at Gotham-International-Airport. According to our experts, the best explanations are either, that he uses a financial institute in Gotham for money-laundering, or, that he plans to open an American branch of “dhidi wanaharakati co.”, the official source of his income.

The reason, why especially the latter would be reason for concern, is Graebers ability, to get rid of competition.  
He was born as the son of a minor West-African warlord, that reigned over a single mine of blood-diamonds and some acres. The reasons, why he has South-African citizenship are unknown. When his father died, his territory expanded rapidly.  
Even though he doesn’t hold any office, everything from Nigeria to South-Africa is firmly under his control. According to unproven claims, his influence reaches up to Egypt and even into the isolationist Khandaq. He now controls 98% known sources of diamonds and destroyed the international food trade. Despite all this, any attempts to sentence him at any International Court had failed, because there never were any objective proof of actual crimes against any laws, being it international human rights or Congo traffic-laws. Not even eyewitnesses could be persuaded to testify against him.  
The international efforts to stop him appear to concern him very little, as his arrival in the United States shows. But even prior, he would give an interview to anybody that dared to tread into his territory with nothing but a press card and a voice recorder. While he would supply photographs of armed children and the atrocious work conditions in his mines, he obviously never allowed somebody to bring a camera....”

Bruce Wayne stopped reading the news-article, to do his own research on this possible threat.  
Batman knew the ruler of Khandaq. He and Black Adam had clashed in the past, but he knew, that the man was a reliable ruler and protector of his realm. If the rumors about Graebers influence were true, he could tell him details.  
“Gotham will change and there will likely be no more place for you. You are unable to stop him.”  
“So he is a threat. Can I count on your help to fight him.”  
“He is no danger to Khandaq and he works in ways I would be defenseless against. When I first heard of him, he had made sure in seconds, I could not attack him, but he also promised, not to attack me. My arrangement with him so far had been more beneficial than I could have anticipated. My advice to you is: Do not fight him, you will only increase your loss.”  
“You think he could win against the Justice League?”  
“Do not be foolish. Your friends have work of their own. You would not ask for their help, before even knowing what you would lose.”  
“We’ll see. I’m not the only one watching over Gotham.”  
The rest of his research didn’t look good either.  
The position of a warlord was normally inherited by the most brutal member of the gang. Peter Graeber just finished his academical career after failing to become a professor in social sciences at the University of Dresden at only age 25. Since he had not fled his father's territory in time, it had to be expected, that he would die. Instead a few man, that had wanted to be leaders had died, and only a few weeks later, he had gotten rid of all his former neighbors and taken over their businesses.  
Humanitarian missions into his borders were regularly declared failures, and the deficits of the countries he operated in skyrocketed, but closer inspection of the facts showed a surprising picture.  
Refugee-numbers went drastically down, food imports did as well and reading the actual reports of the humanitarian missions fully, revealed that the physical and social infrastructure had improved to the level of an east-European country like Slovakia or the Czech Republic.  
The answer to this miracle was pretty simple. Graeber took the funds of the governments and any foreigner he could find, and used them, to do all the things, normal warlords wouldn’t do.  
Since neither his income, nor that of his men decreased, he stayed in command, and thanks to his investments, the citizens considered him as good man instead of a cruel criminal and made sure, to present him to any spectators exactly the way he wanted to be seen.  
Comparing the numbers of the international diamond trade, the technological infrastructure, satellite images of his acres, the international food trade statistics and the pictures which allegedly originated from him, made it highly probable, that they did not show the truth.  
Either somebody had faked all of Batman’s sources of information, or Graeber´s pictures of child-slaves were as real North-Korea’s videos of nuclear weapons.

Now, only weeks later, the only drug served in the penguin´s iceberg-lounge was alcohol and the bouncer was no longer armed with an assault-rifle.  
The penguin himself did no longer dare, to use his whole pride as a headquarter.  
Only the biggest of the old families, like the Falconies were still around at all.  
The prostitutes had bruises from self-defense-classes instead of pimps. The port was practically closed to any drug, that was not African cocain.

And the candidate for the upcoming city-council election was not a US-Citizen.


	2. Interview

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First comment I read decides, what I upload next.

“I want to confirm the rumors, Ms. Vale. Indeed I want to become the newest member of the Gotham city-council.”  
“In this case, me and many of my viewers want to know: why?”  
“Well, I have seen how things are done here, I think that there is a better way and I want that way implemented.”  
“You are here for not even three weeks. What problems have you identified?”  
“In Gotham there is a lot of corruption. This could be the reason, why the rehabilitation of criminals has a bad success quota. The Arkham Asylum appears to be either underfunded or a great deal of the staff suffers from mental illnesses, which is why many of the patients do not finish their therapies. Considering the amount of organized crime, criminals motivated by mental illnesses and events, that could be considered natural disasters, the police and fire department are underfunded, unorganized, understocked and understaffed.  
But these are not the problems, that made me come to America.”  
“This answer was at the same time reassuring and not reassuring. So you have an agenda in case you get the seat, but now I want to know, what made you come here?”  
“The USA got my attention due to a lot of my employees dying from drone strikes. I was wondering:' What kind of country spends this much effort and money to kill somebody, that is not threatening them? I looked into it and I think I know why that is. Lobby work in politics and society.”  
“This sounds, like you are about to launch some kind of counter-propaganda.”  
“That would not only be hypocritical but also stupid. People might not like being proven wrong, but being deliberately manipulated? Everybody hates that! What I will do, is make sure, that the citizens are aware, what is going on, and when the guilty are punished, nobody will complain.”  
“I think I’ll stop you there. How do you plan to win? You are literally an outsider and what you just said did not necessarily help you?”  
“I think my chances are actually pretty good. Right now, I’m pretty much uncontested. Your president proved, that mere exposure could very well get me the majority of the votes. To be blunt: only a big name from Gotham could actually challenge me.  
“You sound sure, that no one will do that.”  
“Yes. I mean, who do you have? Commissioner Gordon? I’d have no chance against him, but as long as the GCPD needs men like him, he won’t stop being a police officer.  
You? Not much of a reputation as an administrator, but trusted. Your chances would be good. But once you’ve gone into politics, you’d have to give up your career as a journalist.  
Daggett? As a businesses-man he’s the typical candidate. But even if every single accusation that was ever said about me was true, I’d still be a better person than him.  
Cobblepot? A convicted mob boss. I do not understand, why he spends so much time free.  
Batman? If he announced he was running for any office I’d drop everything and offer to run his campaign.  
Lastly there’s Wayne. But if he is into politics, I wager, he has higher ambitions.”  
“Then here is my last question about your political ambitions. If you came here, to change America large scale, why are you applying for such a low office?”  
“Of course city-council is not my intended endgame. Before I run for a mayor office two things need to happen: I must prove, that I am a good choice and I must become an US-citizen, which is means mainly waiting for me. My company already has citizenship.”  
“Thank you. If you still have time, I would like to ask you some personal questions now.”  
“Please go ahead.”  
“I found out, you graduated in 1960 from the University in Dresden in Germany. Is that correct?”  
“That is correct. I majored in economics but I also took classes in philosophy and maths.”  
“This is really impressive. If my sources are correct, you came to Germany in 2955 at age 20 with basically no knowledge of the language and you are one of the few graduates from east-Germany, that got to keep their degree after the collapse of the UDSSR. Would you please tell us details?”  
“You are partly correct. Yes when I came there I had to make do with French, English and a bit of Russian I learned on the way there. In Bonn, the then capital of the BDR I realized quickly, that the western 'entnazifizierungs'-efforts had no effect on some positions like the professors. So I went east, where I was greeted with open arms. The DDR had many faults, but they had made sure to get rid of the old Nazis and their racism. So I started my studies and wrote my dissertation. What you got wrong, is that mainly fields like economics and sociology got their degrees revoked after the reunification, because the teachings were basically the polar opposites of each other.  
Fields like physics, biology or music were largely unaffected due to them being less politicized.  
My dissertation was about why no system can be at peace with a better alternative. The capitalist then just claimed the peaceful spot and my work was good.”  
“I would like to hear more about that later, but I also heard, that you were a teacher to?”  
“There must be some translation issues with your source. For a very short a period, I held a panel about ethics in economics. In this panel I asked the question, whether it is morally justified to force a person, to participate in a system, from which the 'victim' gains only advantages. The question was deemed as to critical of the system and I was forced to discontinue the panel. So I decided to go back home.”  
“Looking back, what is your opinion on socialism?”  
“Do you mean, the DDR or the idea? Because, there is about as much of a difference as between Adam Smith and the Republican party.”  
“You could start by elaborating.”  
“The base idea behind socialism is, that factories and such are in the hands of the workers, which means, that they have greater control over their lives and makes it less likely for them to earn less, then their work is worth. But that was simply not the case in the DDR. The government said, it owns everything, and since it’s a democracy, that was basically the same thing. Then there was the central planning. While that works great in models and video games, they were in over their heads and the USSR had made some grave mistakes.  
But worst of all, they were not inclusive even to other ideas. The only way to know, you are right, is by subjecting your thesis to your enemies. Look, where they managed to make holes and fix them and repeat until it can’t be disproved. The DDR did the opposite: the elections were a farce, the security apparatus was paranoid and surveyed everyone and then they forbid their citizens from leaving.”  
“It sounds, like you are just bitter, because they fired you.”  
“Maybe I am bitter. I wrote, if two systems of different quality were running next to each other, the lesser one would inevitably turn aggressive. Europe has seen that before during the french revolutions: even though France ran horribly by today’s standards, the other rulers could not allow it to succeed, because it was proof for the commoners, that they did not have to be peasants. During the cold war you could observe this behavior on both sides. Since, according to the difference in history-writing, both sides claimed, they were peaceful when reading this thesis and so I got approval from both sides. Than later I discussed the legitimacy of imperialism in my panel, but because that was no boot licking, I had to stop. So far reality has yet to prove my assumptions wrong.”  
“You never said, to which conclusion your panel came.”  
“'You can lead a horse to the water, but you cannot make it drink.'”  
“I realized that we drifted right back to politics. Any chance, that will not happen again?”  
“Unless you want to talk game-theory no. I admit, that arguing is my greatest passion.”  
“Than I would like to stop the interview here.”  
“Thank you, for having me.”


	3. Investigation

There was no way, somebody that survived no less than 18 drone-strikes and achieved control over an entire continent would leave a part of his plan up to something as random as a vote.  
Either Graeber did not depend on being elected or he had a plan to ensure his victory. In both cases, he was scheming something big. And if it was big, there was no way, he could do it, without attracting the penguin's attention.

Batman observed the Iceberg-Lounge. He could go in through the front door. It was unlikely, that the owner would really sanction a lethal violence against him, right now. Besides, the bouncers did not carry their usual heavy weaponry. But unlikely was not certain and he did not want to risk his life unnecessarily.  
The bulletproof window to Cobblepot's office was open. It could be a trap. Batman knew the layout of the room by heart. It was not big multiple men with guns would be in a disadvantage. The walls were thick and load-bearing, so tearing them down for an ambush was impossible. The risk was low.

The penguin didn't even look up when Batman landed in his office.  
“Hello Cobblepot.”  
“Batman, just what I needed.”  
He still did not look up. He looked stressed. The room was unusually void of fish. The desk was filled with paperwork. The mob-boss was filing a tax return.  
“I want to talk about Peter”  
“DO NOT SAY THAT NAME!”, the Penguin stared furiously straight ahead.  
“I take it, he is bad for business.”  
“No. You are bad for business. Being raided by the police is bad for business. One of those maniacs attempting to destroy the whole city is bad for business. That man took control of most of my organization, before I even realized who I was up against.”  
“Don't try to garner sympathy from me. You did pretty much the same thing to the old families. He can't be the first one to try and conquer the Iceberg-Lounge from you.”  
“Please take a look down into the main room.”  
He opened the door carefully and looked down the balcony. The floor was not polished, as it normally was. Instead of being so clear, it mirrored the room, it looked more like an ice rink. On a few tables dined people in fine suits and a lonely pair used the open space to dance. There were no guards present and the tables were attended by a single waiter.

“It's a slow day.”  
“What you see there is 85% of my income. That man took so much, I'm making more money, running the lounge as a restaurant instead laundering money through it.”  
“You're running so short, that you're not even arming your gorillas anymore? How did that happen?”  
“Looking back, I started digging my grave about five years ago. I made some decent profit selling American guns to Africa and then buying them back, at a slightly higher rate. The reason I made a profit at all, was that I underpaid the smugglers. A few month ago, people started to go missing. Dangerous work, I thought they got themselves killed or arrested. It was only three weeks ago, I found out, they did not die, but quit. By then, I had no more smugglers, three remaining salesmen on the streets, and my supplies were depleting rapidly. When I tried to put a to remind my workforce, that it would be beneficial to keep working for me, the attacks on my stockpiles started. I was out numbered, out gunned and out spent. Only my most loyal men still work for me. I want to keep them around, but I have to cross-finance the operations that involve them. That takes more than the Lounge generates, even if I try advertising and all that. Right now I'm burning up my personal reserve. At the current rate, I can keep that up for about four more month.”  
“If he already has control of Gotham's underground, what does he want?”  
“My guess? He wants to destroy America.”  
Batman scoffed.  
“No, listen to me: He's not calling it that, but closing the free market altogether, because some idiots draw a short match? That's against everything America was founded on!”  
“Talking about idiots, did you try to kill him?”  
“If killing him, would give me back my organization, I would've tried. I don't know why, but he set everything up, without them depending on him.”  
“Sounds smart. He's getting paid without the stress of running everything, the lower risk of being caught with known criminals by a cop and lower risk of being killed in a fight for control.”  
“You forget that this is not a legal corporation, where the owner can just take whatever he lays claim on. Back in the day a mob-boss got all the money, because the business couldn't be run without him. The size of everyone’s cut depended solely on what value they had to the gang.  
But he's not running things. I have no idea, why they pay him.”

Batman was not sure, what to make of this information. An anti-capitalist, that ran the mafia like a business. A peace-advocate, that picked a fight with everyone that crossed his path, no that went out of his way to start fights.  
A man, that could make Black Adam simply accept his influence.  
A man, that got the penguin to admit defeat.  
And he had not forgotten about the reports he had read earlier. He made a short tour around the city and was not surprised by his findings: instead of street-dealers Graeber relied mostly on pharmacies, selling his wares beneath the counter. This had several benefits: the dealers, were now pharmacists and as such knew much better, what their customers wanted. The customers felt more comfortable than in a back-alley. Both were safer from street-violence.  
The wares themselves had changed, too. Instead of crystal-meth and crack, the only drugs, that were straight up illegal, were cannabis and cocain, the latter, while having serious side-effects and being highly addictive, was still much less dangerous, than the licensed medicaments, that were smuggled in from Europe or Canada. Antidepressants, digestive-medicine, and medication that were mainly used to get rid of addiction, now cheaply available to the poor people of Gotham.

Batman did not let himself be fooled, though. Graeber would definitely overstep his boundaries and do something Batman could not allow. But it would pay off, to not act to hastily. Until he knew his plan, he couldn't stop it effectively anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intend to alternatingly write from Batman's perspective, and a perspective, that shows, how Graeber's plan is seen by others.


	4. How to talk to Crazy

The Joker rarely had visitors. So naturally he was intrigued by the man that had showed up in his hideout, without either a gun or a bat-cowl.  
He wore a photo-realistic mask of a face, that looked as average as it got, a normal brown leather-jacket, jeans pants and a dark red-brown shirt. In his pockets were a cellphone, with some preinstalled normal apps and some preprogrammed numbers, like it would be normal for a new phone, as well as a wallet that contained a small amount of money cash, a debit card and a driver's license on the name Brian Smith, a dollar-store invitation card, and last but not least the alleged remote control for the alleged bomb he had brought in a big plastic bag.  
It was a strange contraception: two tinted glass containers filled with a liquid, taped together. Wedged between the containers was a jumble of wires, a signal receiver and a small amount of explosive. The Joker knew, that depending on the content of the glass containers, this thing could do anything between destroying the entire city block and being absolutely harmless.  
The amount of wires made it basically impossible, to tell, if it could be safely dismantled.  
The remote had twelve buttons. The wrong input could likely set it off.  
He grinned.  
“I must know: What do you think you're doing here?”  
“I am here to cordially invite you and one partner to Gotham's last VillainCon.”  
The man pointed on the card that had been laid on a table.  
The front of the folded card was printed with a photo of a puppy with a party-hat.  
The back had the words “Date:”, “Time:” and “Place:” with lines behind each. Someone had written a date which laid two weeks in the future, “19:15” and an address in pen on the lines.  
Harley opened the card and showed it to her friend:  
“Are you depressed?  
Do frequent bursts of diarrhea bother you at inopportune times?  
Do you have neither arms nor legs, which often keeps you from enjoying things you normally would?  
If you answered with yes, than we can't help you either.

But if you hate Peter Graeber or what he's doing to Gotham you should com to VillainCon!”

“The heart-watermarks are what really does it for me! I should just feed you to Bud and Lou.”  
The hyenas approached the man, grins on their faces.  
“You could do that. Ooorr... Counterargument...”  
He grabbed their collars to keep them at distance.  
“You don't! You see, I presented you an opportunity, that is so obviously a trap, that I think we should make a bet about what happens next.”  
“If you want to propose a coin toss, you got the wrong door.”  
“No, more like a party game: If I win, you have to hear me out and let me leave unharmed, if I loose, you can find out, whether you can remove my mask with nothing but fireworks and thrown knifes.  
The rules are simple: I stand here and have an amount of time of your choice, to make somebody in this room laugh.  
Rumor has it, you greatly enjoy humor.”  
“Now that's some confidence! I have just the thing!”  
Four of his goons nodded in understanding and left the room, only to come back with a humongous hourglass filled with only a tiny amount of sand.  
“Let's see, if you can tell a good joke in ten seconds!”  
The man nodded, his mask serious. With this expression he let nine seconds pass.  
When the last grains fell, he opened his mouth, and shouted, like it was a magic spell: “Kommt ein Mann beim Arzt!”  
Most of the henchmen were confused, but the Joker went straight for disappointment.  
“Could you not have been not funny in a language someone here understands?”  
He went to grab a knife, when he heard something, he had not heard in a long time: Harleen Quinzel trying not to laugh.  
He turned. There she was, so red, it was visible through her make up, one hand in front of her mouth, the other slung tightly under her chest barely holding in laughter.  
“You understood that? Why was it funny?”  
“It's not funny!”, tears were in her eyes,” that doesn't count!”  
“Well she's laughing, it'd be petty to kill you now. You were quite certain that you would not die. So, what is this,” he waived the card,” about?”  
“Peter Graeber has changed Gotham drastically and intends to do so further. His vision has no room for people like you. You will either stop him or die. That goes for a lot of people. Now this conflict could be settled with napalm, but then the survivor would reign over a pile of ash. I'd wager that you would still there to be a city to have fun with, after you've won.”  
“So you want to form an alliance, to get rid of a man in a suit?”  
“Not quite. I was hired by mister Graeber to take care of his possible enemies and I decided to take care of all of them at once.”  
“You are not making a strong case, to not just follow Harley's verdict.”  
“I could have marched in here with a few machine guns and flamethrowers, but then everyone would have taken ever greater care, to not be found. If you want to exterminate mosquitoes, you don't slap them one at a time, until you die of malaria. You ignite lanterns, that shine so bright, that they can't resist the shine and grill themselves.  
The VillainCon is not a trap, it's where I will present the bait: the entirety of Gotham, everything Peter Graeber owns, a silver platter to put Batman on and a potato chip, that looks like Elvis. It's really simple: All those that decide to stay, bet their life, that they will be the king of the world. This way I only hit, who needs to be hit.”  
“Just so I get this right: On VillainCon you will amass a big pile of loot, give everyone the opportunity to walk away, then you lock the doors and the winner takes all?”  
“No. I will present you a mediocre pile of loot, like a few billion dollars, nothing noteworthy, than we will tell everybody, who listens, how we will amass a truly epic pile of loot, you know, the keys to the bat-mobile, information, to get rid of every powerful person on the world any way you'd want. Then we will put this pile in a place, that can only be accessed, if everyone, that knows about it, except you, is dead.”  
“Now that sounds like fun. Then off you go, I look forward to that potato chip, that looks like Elvis!”  
The man picked his wallet and phone from the table. When he went to grab the remote and the bomb, the Joker stopped him again:” Tell me: What is in that bomb?”  
“My exit-strategy.” He stretched out his tongue, to show a small trigger, that he had in his mouth the entire time.  
“The fake-death-pill and this K.O. Gas have the interesting property of creating a shock, when consumed at the same time. As a result I would wake up significantly earlier than most of you would.”  
“What about Harley?”  
“She learned German, when she studied psychology. I figured, someone of her intelligence would not lose language skill just because she found herself a new lifestyle.”  
“He's talking about my poison immunity, dumb-ass!” By now Harley had recovered from her fits of laughter.  
“It's not like you have never been anesthetized since you gained that trait. As a rule of thumb, the less short term harm it does, the less immune you are to it.”  
With that he was gone and the Joker and Harley considered walking into a meeting that was promised to be their death.


	5. Bias

Upon returning from the Penguin, Batman saw, that Red Hood had come to over. He had not been subtle, his guns sorted by size placed neatly on the central table in the bat cave. Bruce found Jason Todd arguing with Alfred about doing the dishes, after they apparently had a cup of tea together.  
“I insist. You already cooked it!”  
“This only means, I made them dirty.”  
“Nonsense. I still owe you so much from the time, when I lived here. I should be bringing you tea!”  
“But then neither of us could enjoy it.”  
Then they noticed Bruce. Alfred took the cup from Jason and left for the kitchen, before the young man could react.  
“Jason.”  
“Bruce.” Their relationship had never really recovered from Robin's death.  
“Why are you here?” It wasn't the first time, that Jason had returned to Gotham, but normally he did that, because he wanted to murder a certain target and Bruce would find out, because Batman tried to stop him.  
“To talk to you.”  
“Do you want to come back?”  
“Don't be naive. Personally, I think I'm wasting time, but I'm no longer working alone.”  
“Who do you work for.” His tone become hostile. The prospect of his adoptive son being a mercenary left a nasty taste in his mouth.  
“I work for none except my sense of morale! I said I am working with somebody. And for a change, now it's you who is overly aggressive.” Jason had started out shouting, but had quickly calmed to normal conversation.  
“You have your anger under control?”  
“A goal and a meaning help.”  
“I thought you had found a meaning. One I don't approve of, but you seemed devoted.”  
“I thought so to. But really, I was just reacting to my anger and my humanity. I saw a murderer and I took him out. I'm a pacifist now.”  
Bruce was taken aback: “What about those...”  
Jason laughed out loud: “I'm kidding! I still hunt monsters. But I learned to aim my shots in a way, that the least amount of people dies. Which brings me back, to why I'm here. Please don't try to fight Graeber.”  
“So you work for that warlord. That's a sentence I never thought I'd say.”  
“Goal and meaning, old man. Maybe if I explain, how I came to work with the Africans you'll listen: About a year ago, I was pursuing a crime-lord from Bludhaven. You know the type: sells drugs to kids and kids to old men. Now that scumbag notices, that I targeted him and does the smart thing. As soon as I start killing his men, he's on the way to the airport. I follow him and it gets really frustrating; I can't prevent him from boarding, but I'm still able, to get a seat on the same plane, as he is. So here I am only a few feet in front of an air marshal and him. I decide not to kill him right there and ruin the day of these people, and wait until we landed, it's not, like he'd get away.  
So when he booked this flight, he obviously had had a plan. He had friends and family in Somalia and he had planned to get help from them and I was like 'great, two for one'.  
Anyway we land, and he walks up to the first guy with a gun, he finds, and tells him to escort him, to some address. Now that guy with the gun, he's wearing a uniform, looks like a fucking Nazi, and asks him, why he should. So he gives him the cash, he got through customs. Now comes the interesting part. I didn't have my stuff yet, so I couldn't do much and already expected, that they would be of, but Uniform goes 'Did you just try to bribe an official from the EAF?' and now I thought, it would be super funny, if that gangster now got killed by a soldier of an illegitimate government. The scumbag seems, to think the same and tries to backpedal, like 'Of course not! I did not recognize your uniform and merely wanted to offer payment for a service, of course I would not dare to infringe on your duty, bla bla bla', but Uniform is having none of it and asks for ID.  
So he shows ID and Uniform draws a high-quality tool, and arrests him, because it's a fake.  
At that point I was absolutely stunned. I mean, I have seen that kind of technology, but I did not expect to encounter a working ID-check in Somalia. I get my stuff and start to stake out the police-station and here it gets funnier. So they arrested for a fake ID and now they want his real name. He answers and I wish I had bothered to hack into the police computers, because he immediately is told, that he could not choose his own lawyer and give him a stack of papers. They tell him, that these are the accusations and the evidence, relevant to his case, his assigned attorney would be with him shortly, and he'd get a room to read all about it and consult with his attorney. So by now I think, I might have accidentally chased him into a different time line or something. I mean legal isn't that fast in Scandinavia and they really got it down. So I think best I can do is follow him till he's in prison and then make sure he doesn't get out. His court date is like the next day. I try to follow him into the room, but the guy at the door says, only affected have entrance. I am again confused, because there are more people in there, than are affected by a fake ID, and most of them didn't look like they were here about that. And this court stays in session for ever. Now, if I had rested a little and read the news paper or anything, I would have known why, but instead, when he's brought to prison, I try to go in and kill him. Now I don't think it has always bin this way, but this Somalian prison took security serious. So serious, in fact that I got caught. So they drag me to the police, the take one photo, and immediately know about Red Hood.”  
“You were unmasked?”  
“No, I offered later, when I became their ally, but they don't care really. Back then, they just took my guns and had me glued to the floor. And they asked, why the hell did I try to bust a man out of the death-tract. For a while there was confusion, than it got all cleared up. That scumbag had agreed to become an accomplice witness for several running investigation. Instead of being executed straight away, he would spend a few years behind bars, before he could make his case, that he no longer deserved his death-penalty.”  
“So Graeber stole your kill, and now your his fan?”  
“No. None of this was his doing. What he did, was creating a government, that could protect its citizens from violent criminals, hunger, thirst, civil war, everything they suffered the last two hundred years. Have you heard about the Sahara-Wall? It's the biggest reforestation program in the human history. They're stopping the spread of earth's biggest desert with trees! Of course Graeber can't turn the sand into topsoil, but he is doing more to save the world, than your precious super-friends. By not caring about money, Graeber is creating solutions to the worlds most dire problems, that have plagued Africa for centuries. That is, what he does: he paves the road, where good people can build their world. Do you know, why there has been no terrorist attack from African anti-Americans in the last ten years? Because he talked them out of it. By shooting their guns at our civilians, they only gave our tanks an excuse to destroy their hospitals. Graeber did not march an army throughout Africa, ordering to give women rights, he merely told them, how much better they would be off, if they did. And now he wants to do the same thing here. He will not force his idea of an utopia upon us. He will only show you, how to life good lives.”  
He had become more and more passionate while talking and now stood there with one hand on Bruce's shoulder and the other outstretched towards the window. He hastily put his hands behind his back.  
“You are asking me, to stand by, while someone instigates a civil war? Jason, no matter the intentions, I cannot stand by, when innocents are hurt.”  
Jason's face changed, showing relief, as if he had expected a worse answer.  
“That's what we're asking: protect the innocent. Even a peaceful revolution does not go by without blood. You need to focus your effort on those that deserve saving, instead of going the extra mile to try and save the likes of the Joker.”  
He held his hand out again, this time for Bruce to shake it. He didn't accept it: “So that's it? You come here, try to talk me into letting a murder happen and then you go your way again?”  
“Even you have limits. You cannot save everyone. During the time we spoke, two violent crimes were committed in the streets of Gotham, and that even after the crime-rate dropped significantly recently. Your workload is enough to burn out an entire police-force. Don't make it unnecessarily hard for your self trying to save those, that want to kill you.”  
Jason turned to leave.  
“Jason! I will not let you kill anybody in Gotham. Not even the Joker.”  
“That's why I'm not staying.”

Batman had taken valuable information from the conversation with his former apprentice. Graeber's goal was idealistic. Long term it was to start an American revolution. Short term it was likely to make Gotham a center and an example for the new way. This short term plan included ridding Gotham of its underground.  
That's what was going on with the penguin. In the eyes of his henchmen, the money did not go to a man, but a cause. He was unsure, why the penguin was still alive. One theory was, that with the lounge as his last remaining asset, Graeber expected him, to become an honorable businessman. Another was, that he wanted to dispose of him in the eyes of the public.  
Then there were the other villains, the Joker, Scarecrow, Killer-Croc, Clayface, Mr. Freeze, just to name a few. A man with Graeber's ambitions certainly wouldn't allow them to wreck havoc in his bright future. But the old problem remained: He still was not certain, what his exact plan was and thus could cause more damage than good by action to soon. It was time, to speak to the man himself.


	6. Chapter 6

Alfred had arranged the meeting. According to Graeber's front-desk the man in question had little patience for activities, that were often called networking or PR: Handshaking, exchanging empty compliments, visits to personal residences.  
So Bruce came into his office during lunch. He was greeted by a young, sharply dressed, black man:” Hello Mr. Wayne. I am Kuggs Igenka, Mr. Graeber's adjutant. If you want, you can join me in the canteen. Unless, of course, you wish to speak to the boss in person. Than just go up ahead, he's in eating in his office.”  
That was curious. He followed the directions, he had received at the front-desk and reached a non-descriptive door in a long row of identical doors with name-plates next to them.  
This one said:” CEO-office; P. Graeber & K. Igenka”  
He knocked and an affirmative grunt answered. He came in and saw two identical desks. While one was almost empty, except for a keyboard, a mouse, a monitor, a headset and a notepad, the other one was also filled with dozens of open files and folders. This one was occupied by a black man that locked to be in his late 60s/early 70s.  
Graeber was eating Chinese take-out with a fork, while reading something on his screen, his free hand was holding a pen.  
“Mr. Graeber?”  
He looked up.  
“You're Bruce Wayne. What are you doing here?”  
“I made an appointment to meet you. Get to know the new player in town, if you understand.”  
Bruce heard a cellphone vibrate. Peter pulled his out, looked at the notification and said: “Huh, I should have gone to the canteen.” He showed him a picture, Mr. Igenka had sent him. It was a lovely salmon steak with rosemary-potatoes, sauce and a salad on a canteen-tray. It was captioned with: “This would have made a better impression.”  
“I came here, to talk to you.”  
“Then talk. What do you want to know?”  
“I don't believe, that you would come all the way to Gotham and then leave the first step of your plan to chance. Gamblers don't live long, where your from.”  
“What am I leaving to chance?”  
“You want to be on the city-council. You made your research, you know, that the voter-turnout in these kind of elections is so low, that most analysis are worthless. You gave some good reasoning during your interview with Ms. Vale, good reasoning, that only applies to large elections. I think, that some thirty people will vote the other candidate, because they don't want you. And that would be the end of your ambitions?”  
“Of my political ambitions? Yes. If all it took to stop me, was anti-democratic behavior, I would be undeserving to lead. However, I've also established a quite successful business, as you might have noticed. All I had to do, was to improve the work-conditions. Of course the local competition, mainly Mr. Cobblepot, do not appreciate turning their monopolies into a market.”  
Bruce was taken aback.  
“Did you just admit, that you are a crime-lord?”  
“You could admit, that you're not a business-man, and than we could talk openly to each other.”  
“How would you know, what I am, or am not?”  
“Don't worry, the only bugs in this room, are the ones, you brought with you. I know, that you are Batman, because you are the only one, that could be Batman. The vast resources required, a lifestyle, where none questions being unaccounted for, over multiple days at a time and being tired until noon and most importantly a strong separation between yourself and the real world. Nobody, who has ever been poor, would call what Batman does, justice.”  
“And what does Batman do, that is so wrong?”  
“Punishing the symptoms. You are like a medieval doctor, that just cuts away the pustules and doesn't realize, his patient is dying of inflammation.”  
“So the Joker should be just running free?”  
“As long as our patient is sick, the symptoms will resurface. It happened in the past. The Joker has been declared dead multiple times. Either hell has been spitting him out, or some people are somehow incited to lie about, whether or not they confirmed his death. And then there are the circumstances, which created him in the first place. From what I heard, he had been an unidentified robber with the alias 'Red Hood', until he fell into a container of unknown chemicals, from when on he was declared dead the first time. In a functioning society, there would not have been a 'Red Hood'. In a factory with a standards anything that fell into the containers would be removed within seconds. A judicial system, that was not made for profit would have realized ages ago, that all the Joker does, when you try to rehabilitate him, is create more monsters.”  
“How would you know that?”  
“One of those monsters works for me. He was already fallout of the system, when he worked for you, but you know, what happened. In many places he became the only thing standing between the Jokers of this world and those, that try to be innocent.”  
“Is that not, what Batman is in Gotham?”  
“NO! You only punish, you don't protect. Every employee in Arkham does more to protect the citizens of Gotham than you do. What do you think you're doing? Do you think, the bills, that caused a man to rob a woman, disappeared, after you broke his arm? Do you think, the woman, that stole for kicks, would change her ways, if you gave her a small scare, without any real consequences? Do you think, a man, driven mad by anger and hate, could be reformed by force?  
You help create and enable ever new monsters. Monsters that the city needs you to fight. Have you ever considered therapy?”  
“You just said yourself: This city needs me!”  
“I don't mean to get therapy instead of fighting, I meant that you should fight with a clear mind. Think about it. How many 'rogues' do you have, that could have been reformed, if anybody besides the psychiatrists wanted them to? How many do you know, cannot be saved? You protect nobody by just punching bad guys.”  
“And your plan is better? Forgive me, but until I actually heard it, I beg to differ.”  
“Then beg. Is that why you are here? Hoping, that I would reveal my evil plan? Do you know the game skat.”  
“I do not.”  
“Look it up. S-K-A-T. The 'k' is important. It's a German card game. We will talk again, but I will give you this on the way: you expected to make me play 'ouvert', when we haven't even stopped bidding.”

With that the conversation was ended. The first thing Batman did, when he returned, was researching skat. It was a common three-player card game in Germany. Graeber must have picked it up, when he was studying in Dresden. The cards got distributed between the players, safe for two. Then there was an auction over who got to take these two cards and decide which cards were trumps. Then he would try to get more tricks than the other two players. The catch was, that the solo player was not allowed to choose a game-mode, that was below his bid, meaning that a player could shoot himself in the foot by bidding to high and now being forced to play a variant, where he did not hold many trumps.  
Playing 'ouvert', meaning for the solo-player to play with his deck openly visible, was a way to increase the stakes. It was almost always a guaranteed loss, except when the deck was supremely well suited for the game.  
The metaphor was clear. Coming here had been '18', when the Penguin had fought back, that had been a pass and the Penguin could not win this game. He had told Gotham's underworld '20' and now Graeber was waiting for Batman’s response to '22'.

Mr. Igenka came back from his lunch-break. He was surprised, that his senior had made room on his table, and was now going through the drawers, that were intended for personal items.  
He found what he had been looking for: a 32-card deck. He began laying them out on his table, to sort them and check if any were missing.  
“Why?”  
“I bet 10$, that Bruce will come back to play skat with me.”  
“You know, that I don't like to bet money. But if you're right, I'll be your third man. What gives?”  
“You're my man! I used a dumb metaphor, to say, that I won't tell him anything today. Now I'm 100% sure, that he didn't listen to anything I said before that and will try to apply this metaphor everywhere.”  
“Oh, speaking of everything else: the no-fly-zone over Nanda Parbat has been undone, so Schmidt finished their safe-house just in time, and De Beers called during lunch. They are not selling. Unless you have a better idea, I'd say we just start selling then.”  
“Yes that's about right. We should wait for next week. Make sure our friends got rid of their old ones first.”


	7. Presentation

Batman was worried. All signs indicated, that Ra's al Ghul had returned to Gotham. So far he had yet to find a clue, what the head of the demon was up to, but he assumed, that it had to do with Graeber.  
Then the bat-signal alerted him to a highly suspicious crime-scene commissioner Gordon was examining.  
It was, as it had to be, an old warehouse. It had been partitioned into an entrance room, a main hall and some corridors. In the entrance and the corridors was nothing noteworthy, their purpose being, to obstruct the view to the hall from people going in and the view on those that leave from the ones in the hall.  
The hall was, what was interesting: on the wall opposite to the entrance was a projection screen. The corresponding projector was above the door, directly beneath a camera, where the tape had been removed.  
On either side of the screen was a construction of glass and mirrors, contacted to each other with a corridor, that lead back to the entrance. The constructions allowed everything, that went into one chamber, to be visible in the other as well, making it impossible to tell, where the original was. Even the doors were built mirroring each other, so the door opening was not a giveaway. On the windows were containers with compressed nitrogen.

In front of the screen were stacks of folding chairs. A tape, which fit into the camera was laid on top of the stacks with a post-it that simply read “Protocol”. It looked, like somebody had just held an ordinary presentation about magic tricks. Aside from the bullet holes, the bloodstains and the league of assassins swords.  
The bullet holes were from all kinds of calibers, indicating multiple gun men. The bloodstains had different shapes, the ones closest to each other indicating cuts. The most logical explanation was, that two members of the league had been here. The situation had turned into a fight of multiple people with guns against the two ninjas. Most of the blood that was further out, seemed to come from missed shots that had been intended for one of the ninjas. The ninjas had of course fought back, injuring a lot of their assailants, but the fact, that there was all in all relatively little blood and that their swords were still here indicated, that they had been the only ones killed here. Whoever had planned this ambush had not underestimated his enemies.

The outside of the building was burned. It must have been covered in a burning substance. The nitrogen had prevented the fire from suffocating those inside. Near the back-door were several shells and the same number of blood-stains as well as shards of bone, indicating headshots.

The video tape had been cut. Literally. Someone had removed parts of the recording and glued the ends together. The low-tech nature of all the equipment involved made it obvious, that no further editing had taken place.

Commissioner Gordon was in the corridor, when Batman appeared besides him.  
“Do you know, who was here?”  
“Jesus! I wish you could just say 'hello' like a normal person. We've taken blood-samples and the CSIs are searching the entire building for traces of anything. It's weird. This back-area here was sparkling clean, but there”, he pointed at the wall to the hall,” that's an orgy. Footprints on the floor, fingerprints on the chairs, powder marks everywhere. So far we confirmed Mr. Freeze, Killer Croc, Poison Ivy, Bane and Clayface, but we have some more suspects, for example one of the stacks smells distinctly like raw fish. And we haven't even looked at this 'protocol'.”  
“I'll take it.”  
“You can't just...”  
Batman and the tape had both disappeared.

Batman had no doubt, that if Graeber knew about the league of assassins, he would definitely challenge Ra’s al Ghul. Whatever was on this tape, was likely his next bid.  
Batman took it apart and examined all the pieces, before he took it to the bat-cave. When he was certain, that it was in fact nothing more than a recording, he put it into the bat-VHS-player to watch it on the Bat-computer.

It started on a room mostly filled with chairs, the hall he had taken the tape from. The chairs were mostly unoccupied. In the front, between two bodyguards sat the penguin, visibly uncomfortable staring at the entrance, every time, the door could be heard. In the mirror-chambers stood either a person extremely still, or a realistic puppet. Impossible to tell due to the quality of the recording.  
Little by little Gotham's criminal elite came in. Apparently there cards on the seats, because everyone looked at them and sat down on a specific chair. The idea for the seating plan appeared to be to cause unrest. Catwoman sat next to the penguin, Harley and the Joker were placed apart from each other, with her suspiciously close, to where now were several blood-stains. Then another Joker came in and sat down right next to her, while the first one was an empty seat away from Mr. Freeze. One of them had to be Clayface.  
Ivy sat to Harley's other side, Bane sat behind them, in front of them was Killer Croc. And right in the middle of this kill-circle one seat remained empty. So a member of the league had voluntarily moved into this position. There were few, who thought of themselves so highly, that they would do so.  
Something happened in the mirror-chambers. A man, that looked identical to the puppet, that stood there, opened the doors and dragged it into the corridor and reappeared a few moments later. Then the presentation started.  
“Hello. You are all here, because you are, in the eyes of Mr. Graeber a burden to society and we intend to change that using the power of violence. The idea is simple: in the course of the next days, we will set the stakes and the framework for a battle-royal. In Mr. Graeber's name we will participate. You can call either of us Smith.”  
Batman thought, what most of the people in the video seemed to think as well. The mirror-chambers might make it look, like it was two identical people holding the presentation, but it was clearly only one.  
“Now the first step, is to make everybody's motivation clear, which is, why we are here. I will now introduce all here present. Let's start off with the most boring ones. The mafia.”  
The faces of the Penguin and various other mob-bosses were displayed.  
“There's not much to say. They want money, because they like money, so they do, what ever they can come up with, as long as it doesn't involve legal work.”  
And like that he continued. He sometimes made comments, like that if Catwoman had not fled Arkham every time she was incarcerated, she wouldn't be a criminal now, since kleptomania was treatable, even if not curable.  
Then outside of the building burst into flames. The nitrogen was sprayed at the walls, preventing the oxygen from being sucked out the windows and the room from getting to hot. And the door opened and a woman came in, followed by a man.  
Smith greeted them:” The demons are late! This is Talia al Ghul” even if the video-quality was not the best, he could tell, that the woman was not Talia. But the man behind her was either the real Head of the demon, or a capable double.  
“and her father the leader of the league of assassins. I was just about to introduce you.”  
The woman had taken her seat next to Mr. Freeze and Ra's was about to sit down, when the next slide came on. It was his face captioned “Kill-joy”.  
The Joker next to Harley was Clayface. He tried to wrap himself around the assassin, who had jumped up, to evade. His arms were still free, but his foot was trapped. He tried to attack forward, but his sword could not cut through Killer Croc's massive form, against which he was smashed by Bane. He still tried to fight back. But he was covered by Ivy's pollen, which did not affect the man with the face-mask, the man made of clay and the man that was pretty much a reptile. Even his extraordinary skill against humans could not protect him against this assault indefinitely. He died, when when Killer Croc bit his head of.  
His companion stood even less of a chance. While her enemies were much more human and thus much more susceptible to the leagues art of combat, she was still helpless against Mr. Freeze' armored body and the Joker's insanity.

When their swords hit the ground, the remaining attendants aimed their weapons at Smith.  
“You want to know, why you should trust us, when we just threw this guy under the bus. So let me just compare him to the most famous in this room; the Joker.  
They have a lot in common: both can be considered to be Batman’s arch-nemesis. Neither is, or rather was, to bothered by the past. And both have killed a lot. But that where the difference is important. Mr. al Ghul here believed, that the world could simply be purged of all evil, by destroying whichever city he disliked the most, which up until his recent demise was Gotham. That would mean specifically targeting all of you. That is different from the Joker, because he does not want to kill anybody. He is merely on the search for a form of humor, that he could call perfect. That some people have to die on the way is pure coincidence.”  
Judging by the Joker's reaction this explanation of his motive was spot on.  
“That is different from us or Mr. Graeber, because we want to make a stable society. Small time criminals do not disrupt that and you, can always choose to try and follow your goals in a way, that does conform with society, or to leave. Only if you choose to do neither, we will have to kill you.”  
The video then continued rather uneventfully, until it came to the part, where Smith explained the plan and the tape reached the cut. Up until then, his audience had remained mostly suspicious of him, but had lowered their weapons, because they got tired of holding them up. After the cut, Smith had left the mirror-chamber. Whatever the plan had been, it must have pleased the criminals. He was chatting with Harley Quinn while putting the chairs away. The Penguin and the other mob-bosses still looked angry and were on their way out.  
The body of Ra's al Ghul was gone, but Killer Croc still had a human leg in his hand.  
Catwoman approached Smith and quietly asked him a question, to which he reacted by laughing loudly: “If you really want to be a part of this over kleptomania and a cat-fetish then be my guest! Bring the blueprints of the bat-cave into the pile! Maybe not-your-boyfriend can talk you out of this.”  
“You think, I couldn't handle this?”  
“I think, that our task is, to kill those, that will never be functioning members of society. Since nobody complains about your suit, your problem is the stealing. Good thing, we have an expert here. Dr Quinzel, if she was willing, could Ms. Kyle be successfully treated, so she would no longer feel the need to commit theft?”  
“It'd take longer than my attention-span, so yes, but actually no.”  
“How long would she remain in treatment, by your estimate?”  
“If she actually wanted, to stop being a thief? A few weeks of daily appointments and a stable, reliable environment for about half a year.”  
“Interesting. The reliable environment seems to be an important factor for mental stability. What would count as such?”  
“Kleptomania can have various causes. In her cause, it comes from a lifetime of poverty, where theft had been her main source of income. Any living-situation, where stealing, to either finance her life or prepare for an escape, can not be justified, would work to discourage her from doing her so.”  
Both him and Harley had been staring at her the whole time. When Smith opened his mouth to continue, she groaned loudly and stomped of.

Batman stopped the tape and decided to let Alfred see it. He would have to talk to Catwoman.


End file.
